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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567859">World's Best Boss</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon'>Veul_McLannon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Discworld - Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Humor, M/M, Office Shenanigans, Sam Vimes - mention</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:42:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Drumknott keeps returning from Pseudopolis Yard distressed and jittery. This kind of thing cannot be allowed to continue. What dreadful things are the Watch submitting his poor secretary to?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rufus Drumknott/Havelock Vetinari</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>World's Best Boss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this in like half an hour tops after having read and written no Discworld for over a year, so if the voice is all off I apologise. (It’s definitely not quite as sarcastic as it ought to be). I miss these books incredibly.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t often that Drumknott’s duties took him in the direction of Pseudopolis Yard; normally he preferred to send a lesser clerk to deal with the excruciating tension headache that was Sam Vimes. Of late, however, he had been making the journey himself – necessitating, it might be added, the unnecessary (and completely secret) deployment of three Dark Clerks to ensure his continued safety.</p>
<p>This in itself, while perhaps noteworthy, was a minor flaw in the well-oiled machine of Havelock Vetinari’s Chief Clerk. It was however, a considerably larger concern in the well-oiled machine of Havelock Vetinari’s <em>Rufus, </em>and as such the Patrician had spent some little downtime he could barely afford (precisely five hours and forty-nine minutes) over the last three days trying to unravel the conundrum.</p>
<p>It was to no avail, however – he had heard no more complaining from Vimes than usual, and Rufus Drumknott wouldn’t mention an infestation of rats gnawing on his leg if he thought it would cause Vetinari strife.</p>
<p>Ah- speak of the devil and he shall appear – Vetinari’s Chief Clerk melted far more obviously than usual into the Oblong Office in what could only be described as a <em>snit</em>, installing himself with no little grace in the high-backed chair behind his own desk. He breathed heavily a few times, his jaw twitching minutely, eyes focussed on a quill, or perhaps on a speck of dust left on his desk. One could never tell. Vetinari raised an eyebrow at his coffee cup, which remained unmoved by this display, and continued pretending to read yet another petition from the Assassins’ Guild.</p>
<p>Five minutes later, the temperature in the room had settled into something less resembling a furnace of banked rage, and was returning once more to the much more usual and palatable temperature described charitably as ‘frigid’. Drumknott had even gone so far as to remove a fresh ream of paper and new ink, which was generally the standard post-Vimes behaviour (a man needs a pick-me-up after all). Perhaps he, Vetinari, had been hasty. Perhaps he was getting paranoid in his old age.</p>
<p>Five minutes later, his mental capacity remained unsullied: Drumknott had spent the last four and a half alternating between staring at his page with an iron-clad grip on his quill, surreptitiously eyeing Vetinari’s desk, relaxing, returning to the page… and so on and so forth.</p>
<p>It was time for an intervention.</p>
<p>“Drumknott.”</p>
<p>To his credit, the clerk in question didn’t react in any way at all, other than to turn his gaze upon the Patrician.</p>
<p>“Come.” He beckoned.</p>
<p>When his clerk had installed himself calmly in front of his desk, Vetinari leaned back, fingers steepled, to regard him. No outward signs of agitation remained. Most puzzling.</p>
<p>Vetinari nearly sighed.</p>
<p>“Sit, Rufus.”</p>
<p>This got something of a reaction: a single blink. First names during working hours were generally avoided, the implication being that working hours had been postponed. Drumknott therefore took his usual post-work seat – to wit, a suddenly-clear square of Vetinari’s desk.</p>
<p>Vetinari decidedly did not smile. It was a close thing though.</p>
<p>“What has Vimes done, Rufus?”</p>
<p>“Done, my l-” Vetinari quelled that appellation with a glance. “-ah. Havelock?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Rufus, <em>done</em>. You are unable to concentrate. Explain.”</p>
<p>“I apologise, my- Havelock.* It is… foolish. I shall endeavour to control my reaction forthwith. If that is all?”</p>
<p>He made to slip from the desk, but found himself pinned in place like a moth under a particularly icy gaze.</p>
<p>“Explain, then, your foolishness.” Vetinari’s eyes softened infinitesimally. “Rufus, what ails you?”</p>
<p>Drumknott was now making vigorous eye contact with the skirting board. Vetinari had half a mind to sentence it to the scorpion pit.</p>
<p>“Commander Vimes has a mug.” It was as close to blurting as Rufus had perhaps ever come; consequently Vetinari found himself as close to speechlessness as <em>he </em>had ever come.</p>
<p>“It has, ah… untruths written on it. I- I find myself compelled, when I view it, to hurl it on the ground and it-” he swallows, imploring the flooring appealingly, “It unsettles me, to feel so strongly.”</p>
<p>Vetinari, returning to his senses, found the presence of mind to enquire, “What untruths, Rufus?”</p>
<p>“It… it states that… it…” He huffed a sigh of frustration and twisted round to the desk behind him, grabbing-</p>
<p>Vetinari’s mug?</p>
<p>Vetinari’s mug that Drumknott had in fact purchased for him last Hogswatch?</p>
<p>Vetinari’s mug that was emblazoned with the words, “World’s Best Boss”.</p>
<p>The Patrician’s icy demeanour cracked like a cliff face, and clutching the mug to his chest like treasure, he laughed and he laughed and he laughed.</p>
<p>(But don’t tell anyone. Such petty emotions are above him.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*Something warm and dangerous unfurled in Vetinari’s chest. It was of no consequence.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading - I probably could have fleshed this out a bit, but I don't have Heaps of time atm so just wanted to throw it out there! I you enjoyed it, please let me know!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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